


Sehnsucht

by nastally



Series: Dawn of Aquarius Multiverse [6]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Depression, Drug Dependency, Drug Use, Heartbreak, Heavy Angst, I promise it isn't JUST sad though, Introspection, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Unhealthy Relationships, a lot of alcohol too, but it's pretty fucking sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 10:29:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21354805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nastally/pseuds/nastally
Summary: Sehnsucht(German pronunciation: [ˈzeːnˌzʊxt]) is a German noun translated as "longing", "pining", "yearning", or "craving". Some psychologists use the wordSehnsuchtto represent thoughts and feelings about all facets of life that are unfinished or imperfect, paired with a yearning for ideal alternative experiences.
Relationships: Dominique Beyrand/Roger Taylor, Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor, Winnie Kirchberger/Freddie Mercury
Series: Dawn of Aquarius Multiverse [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2030740
Comments: 35
Kudos: 66
Collections: Froger!Week 2019





	Sehnsucht

**Author's Note:**

> Set in 1983, a possible continuation of _Dawn of Aquarius_.
> 
> I am not going to lie, this is not a happy story. Although I'm hoping for an uplifting ending. I've only managed to write the first chapter for Froger week, so I will finish it later, but I'll definitely finish it because it's been on my mind for a long time. Anyway, what I'm saying is, spare yourself the pain and don't read it if you don't like an excessive amount of angst!
> 
> In 1983, Freddie Mercury briefly worked with Michael Jackson on a recording, but ended up falling out with him. Allegedly, this was because Jackson hated drug use and caught Mercury (who got sick of running to the bathroom to do it in secret) doing a line of coke. But really no one quite knows what happened. It could have just as easily been Freddie being too weirded out by Jackson and his llamas.   
Jackson never ended up recording anything with Mercury or Queen, in the end.
> 
> In 1983, Queen officially took a "year out" from their career.

Late spring, 1983

\- - -

Roger fell back onto the carpet with a grunt and immediately found himself with an armful of toddler when Felix took his capitulation as an invitation to throw himself onto his chest. 

"Daddy! Up, up! Get _up_, daddyyy!" The three-year-old whined, relentlessly bouncing up and down on top of him and pulling at his shirt with his fierce little fists. 

"Daddy's tired," Roger groaned, knowing perfectly well that his protests meant nothing, because Felix wasn't done using him as a jungle gym. True to form, Felix climbed off him only to take another run up and throw himself onto his father's stomach. "Oof! Christ, you're getting heavy." 

Felix squealed with laughter and squirmed as Roger lifted him up over his chest.

"Ha _ha_! Who's this little boy, eh? _Eh_?" Roger grinned, and half hugged, half wrestled the toddler close to his chest, breathing in his clean scent and closing his eyes for a moment. "Where's my baby gone?"

"I'm not a baby!" Felix protested, still giggling and kicking his legs, trying to escape his father's affections. "I'm a big boy!" 

"Yes, you are," Roger sighed, and loosened his grip, letting Felix wiggle out of his arms before he could kick him in the balls by accident. A worryingly regular occurrence. The toddler proceeded to turn around, straddle his chest and pull Roger's shirt up. 

"Belly button!" he shouted excitedly, and Roger squinted at the clock on the living room wall in the vain hope that he might be able to make out the time. 

"Is it bath time yet?" he shouted, fighting off the boy's curious little hands as he tried to jam his fingers into his father's belly button. "Felix, no, buddy. Stop- stop it now- _Dom_?" 

Dominique swept past, carrying their empty dinner plates and throwing him an amused, affectionate glance in passing. 

"Yes, go ahead, it's ten past six," she informed him, and disappeared into the kitchen. 

"Little belly button!" Felix said, lifting up his own shirt. Roger gave him a tickle. 

"You heard mummy! Time to go bath, alright?" 

Felix wriggled away from him. "Nooo!" 

"Yeees!" 

"Shall I do bathtime?" Dominique called from the kitchen, over the sound of running water. 

"No, no, I'll do it," Roger replied quickly. Felix was an exhausting ball of seemingly limitless energy and robbed him of his last nerve most days, but he was also the most precious, adorable, miraculous thing in the whole world. Roger had already missed out on so much of his short life due to work commitments, and he had every intention to make up for it during the sabbatical Queen had taken from their career at the start of this year. 

"What's that?" Dominique poked her head into the living room. 

"I'll do it," Roger repeated, "I'll do bedtime, too, don't worry." He gave her a wink. "Pour yourself a glass of wine, love." 

"Ooh, don't mind if I do," Dominique raised her eyebrows with a smile and disappeared into the kitchen. Roger gazed at the doorframe through which she had just disappeared, pleased to see her relaxed and in a good mood. He was absently wondering if there was a chance he might get laid tonight. He hoped she would have that glass of wine. 

Felix was bouncing on top of him and quietly singing _We Will Rock You_ to himself, just for a change. Roger, Brian and Deaky had all discovered what a favourite that one was with the kids. And how much it could grate. But what could you do? 

"WE WILL WE WILL ROCK YOU!" Felix suddenly decided to shout at the top of his lungs, slapping Roger's bare stomach to accompany his rendition of the chorus. 

"Ow, ow, _careful_, buddy. Daddy's not a bongo! Come on," He lifted the toddler off him and pushed himself up. "Time to go bath." 

"No! No bath!" Felix squeaked, and took off running. 

Roger groaned, slowly getting up off the floor. "I'm not chasing you! Felix! Bathroom, now! Now, Felix! Do I have to come and get you? One... two..."

When the telephone rang he was busy holding a still wet and towel-wrapped Felix up in front of the bathroom mirror, patiently watching him attempt to brush his own teeth. 

Dominique picked up after the third ring and he could faintly hear her exchange pleasantries with whoever was on the line. 

"All done!" Felix announced. 

"Good job!" Roger set him down and passed him a cup of water. 

"Roger, it's for you!" 

Frowning, Roger leaned out of the bathroom, looking down the corridor toward the stairs. "Tell them I'll ring back!" 

Dominique appeared at the top of the stairs, glass of wine in hand. "It's Freddie." 

"Oh," Roger glanced down at his son and brushed back strands of his wet hair. "Alright, can you... I'll just be a minute." 

"Come on, sweetie," Dominique left her glass on a sideboard in the hallway and brushed past him, taking Felix's hand. "Let's get your pyjamas on." 

Roger jogged down the stairs and picked up the receiver, sinking down onto the couch. 

"Hey Fred, what's up?" 

"Hello, dearie," Freddie drawled, followed by a pronounced sigh. "Well, I'm afraid I've gone and pissed off Michael Jackson." 

This was followed by a nervous outburst of laughter. 

Roger leaned his head back, a small smile on his lips, and ran a hand through his hair. 

"That's... unfortunate," he offered. 

"Yes, I'm sorry." He could hear Freddie pause to take a sip of something. "I don't think we'll be recording together anytime soon. I've cocked it up, for a change." 

"Don't worry about it," Roger said softly, shaking his head a little. "Listen, can I ring you back? I'm in the middle of bedtime." 

There was a moment of silence on the other end. 

"Freddie?" Roger brought the receiver closer to his lips. "I'll call you back later tonight. We'll have a proper chat. Where are you?" 

"Don't worry, there's really no need," Freddie told him, in that light, bitter-sweet tone which made Roger worry every time, "I just wanted to hear you... hear... how you were doing, that's all." 

Freddie corrected himself with a small chuckle halfway through the sentence, slurring his words a little. 

"I'm good, yeah," said Roger, a concerned frown on his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Felix making his way down the stairs. Still naked. 

"Where are you? Are you in the States?" 

"I'm in-" Freddie started and broke off, coughing. "Sorry, dear. Back in Munich now."

"Daddy!" Felix came running and climbed up on the sofa, holding a book. "Daddy, daddy!" 

"Shh, wait-" Roger tried to gently keep him at bay with one hand, "Daddy's talking on the phone- Fred, I'll call you in a couple of hours," he managed to get out over his son's persistent chant of 'daddy, daddy, daddy'. 

"Sorry, I tried, but he wants you," Dominique informed him, walking up to them, wine in hand. 

"I won't keep you," Freddie said on the other end of the line. 

Felix's chant had changed to 'book, book, book'. 

"Sorry-" Roger said into the receiver, glancing over at the boy. "_Shush_, I'm talking! Fred-" 

"Give your boy a kiss from me, will you?" 

Freddie's voice, close to the receiver, followed by a dry chuckle. "I'll let you go now, darling." 

"Freddie-" 

There was a click and the line disconnected. 

"Book, daddy! Please, please!" 

Roger put the receiver down with a frustrated sigh, taking the book out of the boy's hands. 

"Do you know what patience is? Do you, mister?" 

He exchanged a look with Dominique, who gave him a sympathetic shrug while Felix eagerly climbed into his lap. 

"Everything alright?" she asked. 

Roger opened the book and glanced up at her distractedly. "Yeah... Yeah, fine," he murmured and watched her wander off back to the stairs out of the corner of his eye. It was a lie, of course. Freddie hadn't sounded alright, and a part of him was very preoccupied with that thought even as he turned his attention back to his son. 

"Now then." Roger settled in more comfortably, holding the naked toddler close, and prepared to read 'Everyone Poops' for roughly the ten-thousandth time in half a year. "An elephant makes a BIG poop, a mouse-" 

"Look, daddy! Big poop!" 

"Yes, buddy. A mouse makes a _tiny_ poop..."

Not for the first time, Roger fell asleep on the floor in Felix's room, holding his son's hand. Dominique always tutted about it and accused him of ruining all the sleep training she'd done, but how could he say no when Felix was crying for him to stay?   
By the time Roger woke up, feeling groggy and disoriented, it was half past ten. He wandered down to the living room and found Dominique in her pyjamas, halfway into a Hollywood movie and three-quarters into a bottle of wine. 

"Did you fall asleep?" 

Roger yawned. "Yeah." 

"You're getting him used to it, you know." 

'I don't mind,' Roger thought, but wisely didn't say. She patted his hand when he reached out to touch her thigh and then absently brushed his fingers away. Well. He'd missed that window. 

Roger went to find his cigarettes. 

It wasn't until he had been standing on the balcony for a while, watching the smoke dissolve in the night air, that he finally remembered.

_Freddie._

He quickly finished his cigarette, went to pour himself a tumbler of Southern Comfort and retreated to the study.

Swirling the drink in his glass, feet up on the desk and ankles crossed, Roger held the receiver close to his ear, waiting. 

The phone rang and rang, until eventually, the line disconnected. 

Roger dropped the receiver down onto his shoulder and took a long sip, thoughtfully gazing at one of the platinum record plaques on the wall, beside the bookshelf. The gold-framed, colourful version of the Queen logo stared back at him from _A Night At The Opera_. And Christ, didn't _that_ feel like a lifetime ago? 

With a sigh, Roger hung up the phone and went to join his girlfriend in front of the telly. He'd try and ring again tomorrow. 

\- - -

"So, apparently, Fred pissed off Michael Jackson." 

"Is that right?" Brian said distractedly at the other end of the line. Roger could hear Jimmy and Lou shouting and laughing in the background. Someone was strumming an acoustic guitar. 

"Yeah," Roger ruffled his hair and stretched, enjoying the current peace in his own house. All quiet, except for the cleaner, pottering around upstairs. "He didn't ring you?" 

"No. Hang on. Jimmy, will you please let your sister have a go? Yes! Thank you! ...Sorry, you were saying?" 

"You've not heard from him at all, this past week?" Roger asked, inspecting his nails. 

"Ah, no, I haven't. Why? What's this about Michael Jackson?" 

Roger shrugged. "I don't really know, to be honest. He didn't say. Do you... Do you know if Deaky's spoken to him at all, or...?"

"I'd be surprised," Brian said, half drowned out by much louder, much less melodic guitar strumming. "They're in Sicily, aren't they." 

"Oh, that's right," Roger frowned and picked up a paper plane from the floor which he had made for Felix earlier. "I forgot." 

"Why?" Brian finally asked, his voice suddenly more attentive, and Roger wasn't sure what to say, all of a sudden. Even though he had fully expected to answer this question.

"I don't know," he sighed, leaning back on the sofa and aiming the paper plane at the kitchen doorway. "He rang me about a week ago and..." The plane sailed through the doorway and crashed into the espresso machine. "Well, I said I'd ring back but I've not been able to get a hold of him." Roger scowled. "It's always Prenter." 

"What a shock," Brian deadpanned. 

"I know, I know... I just..." Roger closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the sofa. "He rang me, drunk, you know? And I thought he sounded a bit off... that's all." 

Brian was quiet for a while. "I'm sure he's fine." 

It was a lie, of course. They both knew it was. Because they both knew Freddie _wasn't_ fine, and hadn't really been fine for some time. He hadn't been fine when he'd turned up pale as a sheet with a bloodied hand last year after that complete shitstain Bill had finally crossed a line Roger had worried Fred would never draw. Although if Roger really thought about it, Freddie probably hadn't been fine even before Bill. Not after the way things had ended with Joe, probably.   
It hadn't just been the break up though, it was the timing of things. Of everything. 

Roger didn't like to think about it, because it made him feel awful and helpless. It inevitably lead to what-ifs, and there were no answers to those questions. 

He didn't like to think about the fact that he was spending his days pushing swings, playing pretend and waking up to a squealing handful of tiny human every morning, and _loving_ it. Just like Brian. Just like Deaky. Roger didn't like to stop and dwell on the fact that this was his life now, while Freddie went from party to party, a line of coke at a time. From lover to lover, just trying to forget the one who had hurt him last. Or, perhaps, the one who had hurt him most. 

The latter was a can of worms Roger was never going to touch. What was done was done. And besides, he was not so vain as to really believe-

Anyway, it didn't matter. Freddie had been slipping away from them gradually. From all of them. Sure, they'd all had to take a step back as their personal lives demanded their attention. Long gone were the days of sharing rooms and living in each other's pockets, and thank Christ for that, because Roger loved Brian dearly, really he did, but before they had wisely decided to take a break, Roger had been one sarcastic remark away from stabbing the guitarist in the eye with a drumstick. So it was a good thing, really, to give each other some space. They had all agreed on that.   
Only, with Freddie, it was different. And it didn't take a genius to see why. Wives and children were now part and parcel of many a show on tours, and so Freddie had assembled his own entourage. A circle of good friends and fair weather friends and leeches like Prenter, shrieking with laughter at his jokes and fawning over _Melina_. Sometimes that circle felt impenetrable, even to Roger. And it felt like Freddie, talking animatedly and laughing exuberantly just at the other side of the room, was miles out of reach. 

"Why don't you give Mary a call?" Brian said into the silence. 

"Yeah," said Roger. "I might." 

Most of the week had gone by before he did. Part of him just wanted to let it go and believe that Freddie was fine, or would be fine, anyway. After all, Freddie was one of the strongest people he had ever known. There was nothing he couldn't do if he set his mind to it. Roger just hoped that his mind wasn't in a bad place. 

Mary hadn't heard from him either.

\- - -

_Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas_ was a good book, and he'd been meaning to read it for years, but Roger found himself going over the same paragraph again and again, not taking anything in. After the fourth time or so, he gave up and closed the book, leaning his head back against the tall, silk upholstered headboard with a sigh. 

Beside him, Dominique lowered her own book and glanced over at him. 

"What?" 

"Nothing," Roger took off his glasses and put them on the nightstand together with the book, reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose. "Just don't feel like reading." 

He turned to her, meeting her eyes, a small smile on his face. 

Dom raised an eyebrow, but she was smiling, too. 

"It's not even midnight," Roger pointed out, lowering himself down a little and rolling onto his side to face her, head propped up on his hand. Under the duvet, his hand found her thigh, fingers slipping under the edge of her night shirt. 

Her smile widened and she hummed, lifting a hand to his cheek. Roger turned his face into the touch and kissed the inside of her wrist, watching her from beneath his lashes. Then he leaned in and pressed a couple of soft kisses to her shoulder, pulling his hand out from under the covers and deftly taking the book out of her hands. 

"Hey!" she chuckled, feigning indignation. "I was reading that."

"It's not going anywhere," Roger murmured against her skin, scooting closer to kiss her neck while he deposited the book on her nightstand. She hummed quietly and turned to him, sliding an arm around him. His fingers tangled in her dark hair. Dominique raised her eyebrows. 

"You're getting up tomorrow." 

It wasn't a question so much as the terms of engagement. 

"Done." 

With a grin on his face, Roger drew her closer and kissed her. 

Some time after midnight, Roger was lying back, hands folded behind his head. Still naked, under the covers. Dominique returned from the en suite, picked her night shirt up off the floor and put it on, climbing back into bed with him. He wrapped an arm around her as she lowered her head onto his shoulder. 

"I was thinking..." he said quietly, glancing down at her. 

"What?" 

"I was thinking I might go to Munich. Just for a couple of days."

There was no reply. 

"If that's alright with you," Roger added, stroking her arm. 

"Yes," Dominique sighed. "Of course, that's fine... it's only that..." 

"What?" 

He peered down his nose at her and caught her eye. 

"I thought the point was for you to take a break from each other." 

"Well," Roger frowned, looking up at the ceiling. "I mean, yeah, from _working_ with each other." 

Dominique closed her eyes and nestled back into his shoulder.

"Is it just you going?" 

"Yeah," Roger gave a little nod. "Just me. Be nice to catch up, outside of work. I feel like we never really do that anymore." When she didn't say anything, he quietly added: "I think he gets lonely." 

"I'm sure," Dominique murmured, and didn't elaborate further. 

\- - -

If anyone answered the phone at all, it was mostly Prenter. Freddie was out. Freddie was working. Freddie had asked not to be disturbed. Freddie was _busy_. 

Roger thought about telling Prenter that he was coming for a visit, but decided not to. Secretly, he just wanted to see his face when he turned up at the door unannounced. 

On the flight over, he imagined Freddie's face, too. In his imagination, he saw a mischievous twinkle in those familiar dark eyes and a wide, toothy smile. 

\- - -

Freddie woke himself up coughing. He rolled over onto his side and curled up, wracked with pain for a moment, feeling like he was hacking his lungs up and the pressure in his head was going to split his skull open.

Hangovers got worse, with age. But then, everything did. 

When he could finally draw even breaths again and the tightness in his chest subsided, he cracked an eye open and peered at the clock on the bedside table.

Too early to bother dragging himself out of bed. Not that anyone had any business telling him otherwise even if he decided to stay in bed all day. It was a tempting idea. Freddie rolled over and hugged the pillow, closing his eyes again.

Alone in the vast bedroom, thick curtains swallowing the sunlight, wrapped in silk and Egyptian cotton inside his large, empty bed.

But his mind was awake now, slowly combing through memories of the previous night. Trying to fill in the gaps. 

Laughter, drinks, familiar faces and beautiful strangers. Bright lights and music and bodies, more drinks, carefully measured lines on dirty bathroom counters. Or not so carefully measured, perhaps. After all, he had the money to spare. 

A snap of his fingers, and Paul was by his side with another round. 

More of everything. Too much of everything. 

Half-hearted moans rolling over his lips, his mind telling him this was meant to feel good, but all he felt was numb. 

_Harder. Faster._

Pain was as good as pleasure, in a way. 

Until it was the pain which caught up with him the morning after. His body, screaming at him to stop. 

Too much. 

He knew it. Felt it keenly. Only, when night rolled back around, he had forgotten all about it and those blinding lights drew him once more like a moth to the flame. 

But what was life if one didn't _live_ it? 

A sound caught his attention. A car engine, stopping right outside the house. Car doors slamming. 

Shit. 

Freddie frowned. 'Oh, for fuck's sake,' he thought, 'No. Piss off.' Whoever it was, he didn't want to see them right now.

The sound of footsteps faintly reached his ears, and he tried to remember if he was forgetting something again. Surely he wasn't expecting anybody this morning? Everyone who worked for him knew better than to schedule any social engagements before noon. 

The doorbell rang. Freddie groaned. 

"Paul?" he called, lifting himself up onto his elbows and squinting at the bedroom door. "Phoebe? Phoebe!" 

Silence.

The doorbell rang again. There was no movement in the house. Freddie collapsed back onto the bed and decided to pretend he wasn't home until they went away. He closed his eyes and ignored the doorbell when it rang for a third time. And then, a fourth time, followed by a loud, rhythmical knock. The latter caught his attention, although he wasn't quite sure why.

At last, silence followed. Freddie relaxed a little and rolled over onto his back, gazing up at the ceiling. 

Sleep was definitely far out of reach now, but he lay still anyway as the minutes ticked by, trying to find the motivation to start the day. 

Some time had passed - perhaps quarter of an hour, perhaps more - when Freddie realised that whoever had come knocking so early and unexpectedly, hadn't left in that car. No, he was positive he hadn't heard the car after that final knock. 

It must have been a taxi. 

It must have left straight away. 

So, then... 

In the end, it was sheer curiosity that pulled Freddie out of bed. He sat up and stretched, looking at the curtains for some time. Then he dragged himself to the bedroom window and drew back the curtains, just a little. God, but daylight was bright. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust as he peered down at the walkway which lead up to the front door. The silhouette sitting at the end of it, on the curb, was immediately familiar but Freddie's hazy mind refused to understand, at first. Unable to quite believe it. But then his eyes focused and immediately widened.

Blue jeans, a striped blazer, trainers and sunglasses. Blond tousled hair framing his delicate features. A cigarette between his lips. 

Throwing the curtain open so fast he almost ripped it down, Freddie fumbled with the window handle. How the _fuck_ did this window work? 

When he finally succeeded, Freddie yanked the window open and leaned out so enthusiastically he very nearly fell out of it. 

Roger finished his cigarette, unaware of him, and flicked it out into the road. He scratched the back of his head, checked his watch. Pulled out a pack of Marlboro Reds and contemplated it for a moment. 

"ROGER!" Freddie finally yelled, and miraculously, his voice obeyed him. 

Startled, the blond drummer turned around and looked up at the house, breaking into a slow smile as he spotted Freddie. They looked at each other for a moment, before Roger tucked the cigarettes away and got to his feet, hands on his hips. 

"You swine," he called, grinning up at him. "D'you know how long I've been sitting out here?" 

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, dear!" Freddie called back, a matching grin on his face, before he shut the window. 

Looking around the bedroom, Freddie hurriedly pulled a kimono off the back of a chair and threw it on over the red silk shorts he was wearing, tying it loosely around the waist as he swept down the stairs. Fuck, the living room was an utter disaster. But that couldn't be helped now.

At least it was empty. He couldn't remember bringing anyone home last night. 

He couldn't remember anything after the club last night. 

Freddie ran an unsteady hand through his short hair and pulled the door open, coming face to face with his bandmate. Roger looked fresh and immaculate. Freddie felt filthy. 

He wanted to throw his arms around him and breath in his cologne, and instead clung to the door awkwardly, half hiding behind it. 

"What the devil are you doing here?" 

Roger looked him up and down, stepped inside, and drew him into a warm hug. It didn't last particularly long. No longer than it should, between good friends. 

It lasted long enough for Freddie to close his eyes and feel as though a part of himself which had been missing was returned to him. 

"Oh, you know," Roger quipped as he pulled away, "I was in the area, thought I'd stop by." 

Freddie chuckled and ushered him in, closing the door behind him. But his smile slipped as Roger looked around the living room, taking in the empty and half-empty glasses and bottles on almost every flat surface, the general disarray, the razor blade on the grimy coffee table beside a couple of rolled up notes. 

"Excuse the mess. I would've had the cleaner over if I knew you were coming," Freddie gestured at the state of the room dismissively, pulling his lip over his teeth. "You should've called." 

Roger turned around to look at him, although Freddie couldn't quite make out his eyes behind his dark glasses. 

"I did," he said quietly, and Freddie could see his eyebrows draw together. "Did your lackey _forget_ to tell you?" 

Freddie clapped his hands together, a flimsy smile still on his lips. "Darling, I'm dying for a coffee. And a shower. Not in that order!" he laughed. "Please, will you give me a minute? I just have to sort myself out and then you'll tell me everything, won't you? Oh, can I get you anything at all?" 

"No, don't worry," Roger shrugged. "I know where the kitchen is, I'll sort myself out." 

"If you're sure," Freddie started toward the stairs and stopped, looking his friend over. "Where's your luggage?" 

"At the hotel," Roger replied, lowering himself down onto the armrest of the sofa.

Freddie felt a small pang of disappointment. "Did you get in last night?" 

"Oh, no." The younger man ruffled his hair. "Just dropped it off now, before I came over." 

"Well," Freddie ran a hand over his hair, pursing his lips. "That's alright then, we'll get it back. You are absolutely not staying in a hotel, I forbid it. I'm insulted, frankly." 

There was a small smile on Roger's lips. "I didn't want to assume." 

"How dare you?" Freddie threw a glance back over his shoulder, turning to go upstairs. "My home is your home. _Always_ assume." 

It wasn't until he knew he was out of sight that he slowed and leaned against the wall, running his hands over his face. His fingers were trembling slightly. It was hard to ignore. The hangover was really starting to hit him now. Good god, but he felt like shit. Death warmed up. 

He very much wanted to crawl back into bed until he felt better. He wanted to not feel so dreadful so he could enjoy the day with one of his dearest friends. And he didn't want Roger to realise just what a state he was in today. Had been in, most days, if he was honest. 

Right now was not the time to be honest.

Freddie took a deep breath and dragged himself to the luxurious bathroom, fervently hoping that some paracetamol and a shower might sort him out. 

\- - -


End file.
